Death wins nothing here, gnawing wings that amputateโโ then spread, lift up, fly.
September 11, 2001: Citizens of the U.S., besieged by terrorโs sting, rose up, weeping glory, as if on eaglesโ wings.--from the poem Angel of Remembrance: Candles for September 11, 2001
Dreams dress us carefully in the colors of power and faith.
Life possesses an amazing array of profoundly sad faces.
That good gardener, who wept thorns plowing his fields - harvests grace with joy.
Then came the healing time, hearts started to shine, soul felt so fine, oh what a freeing time it was.